The Sparrow and The Starling
by Cynic
Summary: Jack shares a secret with two other men, one living, one dead. When that secret leads to the death of Elizabeth, it will send Will and Jack into a whirlwind of discovery, adventure, and lust.
1. Fate

**Title:** The Sparrow and the Starling

**Author:** Cynic

**Rating:** R

**Warning:** Some gore, non-consensual sex/otherwiseknown as rape, murder, character death, sadism, future slash, and general angstyness. 

**Disclaimer:** I am just pilfering my weaselly black guts out.

**Pairing:** Jack/Will (in Seme/Uke correctness. Gotta admit that Jack wears the pants)

**Archive: **Yes, please! Just inform me at QueenDrgn06@aol.com

**Feedback:** Anything from flames, fangirlism (don't I wish) to constructive criticism 

**A/N:** I have an original character in this. I admit it. Give me a taste o' the cat, cap'n. Moses' law and all that jazz. I promise you though, he is no Gary Stu. He is a convenient bad guy, because I am pretending the whole monkey bit at the very end of the movie did not happen. Loved Barabossa to death, but he is dead so I love him no longer. Oh, and tell me if you think this is overwritten, cause I do. Many thanks and many toothpicks to my beta-readers Ducky and Haya. And any and all errors with regards to OOCness or setting are mine, because neither have seen the movie^^. PS some of the errors are probably Disneys and I just changed them closer to the truth. I would love if people told me where I made an error about pirates/ships/blacksmithing in regards to real life. I researched this far more than was necessary, and I am a bit masochistic about accuracy. Enjoy!

  
  


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Chapter 1- Fate

It was nearly a year after the wedding when they moved to Tortuga, and the baby was about five months old. Before that there was a two month engagement, (it was originally planned as three**,** but they certainly did not want her to show on her wedding) and prior even to that there was four more months of avoiding and coy looks. 

She had looked beautiful in her white gown, glistening in the sunlight. He had allowed her father to pay for the wedding, but he had bought the dress himself and he had made the ring. It was coarse and rough compared to what he could have bought in a jeweler, but it was his. They walked together under the swords and watched her father subtly wipe away a tear. They had celebrated, with rum and wine, for Jack came and refused to drink anything but rum. He managed to shock the entire party, but the couple just laughed when he began to sing. And the song he sang was enough to bring a blush to any light wench. The Commodore sent him disapproving looks, but he could not arrest him. Her father had announced that for this one happy day, he was to remain free. Jack liked this very much, and on his way back to his ship he took a fancy to the Commodore's hat, and so Honored Commodore Norrington was less one. It was a happy day. 

But then the whispers started. Elizabeth had moved into Will's small smithy, and they lived in the apartment above it. When she went to the market or the pump for some fresh water, there were always guarded looks and hidden smirks. How low the high have fallen, they said. They looked at her simple brown frock and they remembered silks and laces. They saw her husband's small business, and how empty it always was. With the Commodore's icy acceptance of the couple, none within the army dared to buy their weapons from him. And no pirate could come to his shop, because everyone knew that the Turners had bad blood in them. Stories were told of the _Pearl and her Captain. Stories that involved their neighbors, and suddenly more than whispers were against the Turners. They no longer hid their disdain. One time she even heard it suggested that the child wasn't Will's, after all she was with a ship full of men for a good time. And that girl, she looks the type to be sleeping around with everyone and their brothers. That was the final straw. _

Will packed up the smithy and managed to sell the last of the goods. They talked a ship into taking them to Tortuga by promising the Captain a custom sword and one for his first mate. Will bought a small shop and managed to scrounge enough money for an anvil and other tools. That was two years ago.

He lay there, in the dark, with the gentle breathing of his son reaching his ears. His arm wrapped around his pretty wife, pressed against his side. Resting above his thriving forge, in his nice little home, and he was unhappy. Elizabeth felt so right against him, like she belonged there. Like fate had put her there and meant her to stay. Will had never liked the idea of fate. He hated it when it separated him from his love, and now he despised it for bringing them together. 

Life was good now, in this little shop. The other women, the whores and the pickpockets, respected and liked Elizabeth. They fawned and petted little Billy, and smiled saucily at his father. The pirates and n'er do wells of this island welcomed them as fellow outcastes.

 Now when she went to the market, she would smile at old lady Abby and her girls. Or she would get stormed by young Becky, wife of one of Jack's men, and be begged for gossip. She was happy here, in spite of the grunge and the dirt.   
Will wasn't so sure though. He stayed in his smithy and worked the iron like he used to before the _Pearl came into their lives. It did not bring the peace it had, though. He did not feel as content beating swords into sharpness or hinges into shape as he did looking at the ocean in the evenings on his way to the pub. Elizabeth tried to be happily oblivious and they both made sure nothing touched their son. _

Little William Jonathan Turner, his boy, and a fine one he was. Already talking and chattering up a storm, he had no fear of strangers as many other toddlers did. He was really raised by everyone, because everyone insisted. A precocious and brown skinned child, he was always playing with the little wooden sword that Will had made him, and the little wooden musket. It drove Elizabeth insane, the thought of her son growing up to be a pirate. She did not mind pirates, in principle. But, her fear was that Billy would grow up like his godfather, Jack Sparrow, and sail away nine months of the year leaving worried friends behind him. Last year, rumors floated around of his death, and all three of them were on tenterhooks until he came back. Billy was too young to understand why they were all afraid, but he just knew that Mummy and Da were not happy and so he wasn't happy. Little Billy loved Jack, though. Whenever he would come back to Tortuga with his ship (only about five times in the two years they had lived here) Billy would be in ecstasy. Jack's last visit happened to coincide with Billy's birthday, so much to the concern of both parents, Jack took the two year old out drinking in celebration. The elder Will was not allowed to come, and Jack just smiled in that dazed way of his at Elizabeth and gruffly said, "The lad will be fine, love. Don't worry a bit, Uncle Jack will take care of him." To which Elizabeth groaned and took the rum bottle from him and swigged it, "That's what I am afraid of."

Elizabeth. She was his wife, and he loved her, but sometimes he felt like he loved her-and made love to her-because he was supposed to. There was no passion in their marriage, but he had the feeling that Elizabeth liked it that way. Liked the normalcy and the quiet. She liked it, and so Will did too. They were so perfect together, so cute. And all their troubles to get to each other, well it must be fate. Or so everyone said. Will thought it was fate. But Will always hated destiny. As if stirred by his thoughts of her, she shifted closer to him, pressing her cold feet against his legs, and her warm body against the rest of him. She smiled gently in her sleep, looking as sweet as she always did. As he drifted off to sleep, a faint grimace formed on his features. He didn't like to be trapped. 

The next morning, Will worked the forge, and Elizabeth went out with Billy to go shopping. He heated up the iron in the flame of his forge, and when it glowed red-hot he took it out. The metal had a sort of beauty to it, a fiery loveliness that used to enchant him whenever he worked it. The flame licked the blackness and turned it into something like the sun through clouds at sunset. He had loved to bend it to his will, to make the pliable metal hard and useful. 

He was not making anything dramatic this morning. No sword or battle ax, nothing that would ever even see battle. He was just making a chisel for some carpenter. The door opened behind him, but he did not turn around. 

Captain Henry Young was an intimidating man. Tall and lanky, he carried himself with a grace that could only be described as feline. He had well formed features and wore a wig like the lords of Mother England. His outfits were always made by the most talented and least scrupulous of the tailors and they were always pressed and starched. He spent his gold with a generous hand to those who needed it and did not take to hard drinking or loose woman. In every way he appeared as well mannered and educated as any other gentleman. He seemed to make liars out of those who called all pirates bloodthirsty scoundrels and scallywags. Until he smiled. 

Then he put Blackbeard to shame and made all the other vagabonds look positively wronged. His blue eyes would gleam with a great intelligence matched only by his callous disregard for human life. Pain on others was nothing to him, but woe upon those who had seen him put down or beaten. Then mere pain would be the least of their worries. They called him the Cruel Aristocrat and his ship, dubbed the Hawk, was a sight to be feared even among the bravest of men. It was said that she only flew the bloody flag, only flew a simple red flag. She needed no other, men whispered, she never gave any quarter. 

She was a fine vessel, a ship in the true sense of the word with three masts and square-rigged sails. She weighed a fair bit over 200 tons and had 32 guns. She carried about 200 men, less a few every battle, more every town. Her hull was painted in somber grays and greens because Captain Young never found it necessary to repaint her. Her former job was searching down her new masters as part of the Royal Navy and then she was called the _Sea Rose. But any honest pirate refused to sail under such a weak name, and so she became the. She was, in truth, a pirate worthy ship._

But Will did not know any of that, nor did he really care. Living in such a nest of buccaneers as Tortuga is bound to make one less afraid of even the worst of them. After all, it is difficult to be afraid of men that you have seen loosing at dice and getting dead drunk on bad rum.

Maybe this pirate was a bit better dressed than most. Maybe he was a tad meaner. Will couldn't tell either; he couldn't even see the man as he was working with his back to the door. 

"Just a moment," he said to the unknown person behind him, "I'm nearly done." Maybe the person was about to demand service, or maybe not. Whatever Captain Henry Young was about to do, he had no time to do it because in bustled Elizabeth. She was holding a cloth bag full of her shopping and trying to contain Billy, who was determined to assault the stranger. 

"Never mind, Will. I'll help him. Now, how may I help you, sir?" she said while shooing Billy upstairs.

"Thank you, m'lady. I am Captain Young, of the _Hawk. Could your husband make me ten grappling irons?" he said courteously, and with a slight nod as he introduced himself. Elizabeth, having been born and raised in the society he was aping, was impressed with his manners but it fit him wrong. She felt uneasy with his affections and etiquette, as if he was wearing a waistcoat several sizes too small. He was much too fluid to be a real noble, he had too much ferocity in his movements. He had all the arrogance but he was not pompous enough. He had all the manners, but none of the ingrained habits of real aristocrats. In short he was as much of a gentleman as any other pirate captain. But you couldn't fault him for trying._

"We actually have several already made. But the rest Mr. Turner will have to-" she halted mid-sentence and rushed upstairs after a loud crash. Will quenched his work and turned around, wiping his hands against his leather apron. The captain chuckled and said to Will, "You have a lovely family, Mr. Turner."

Will smiled and was about to respond, but Billy crawled down the stairs again at that moment. Brandishing his wooden sword he hollered something, a battle cry presumably, and gave the Captain a solid whack on the shin.

"Avast yah lobsterback!" he squealed in his high pitched voice, "I be Captain Jacky Sparrow and I dead you!" He finished his pronouncement with another wallop on the man's shins. Young's eyes glittered as he bent down and in a smooth movement removed the sword from Billy's hands. Holding it out of reach, he gripped the boys shoulder tightly so that the child whimpered.

"Jack Sparrow," he mused, mulling over the words. The boy and his sword were scooped out his hands by Elizabeth, who shushed Billy. 

"Do you know the man?" he asked, looking at Elizabeth sharply.

"Yes, we do. He is a close friend of Will and I." she said, suspicious of his tone and demeanor.

"He be the bestest pirate ever!" Billy piped up, always wanting to submit his opinion.

"Is he now?" the pirate said."I bet you knew him. And I bet he knows you. All of you." He said to Elizabeth in a provocative and suggestive tone. His manner suddenly changed. He no longer tried to be nice and gentle, he was now showing what he really is, a pirate and a good one. 

Elizabeth fumed and slapped him hard about the face, "Don't talk that way about me or _Captain_ Jack Sparrow ever again."

He merely smiled and Elizabeth took an involuntary step back. She heard the sound of Will drawing his sword but Elizabeth stopped him with a word. 

The other man continued, "You mean you don't know of his reputation? He knows about every woman he meets and a whole bloody lot of the men too. Maybe Mr. Turner over there is the one that knows him, eh?" He smirked, fully aware of how angry he was making the two of them.

Elizabeth wound up for another slap but Young caught her hand. Holding it tightly in his grip, he sneered down at her, "Maybe Mr. Turner, this lovely family isn't entirely yours, hmmm?"

Suddenly the sunlight glinted off a sword point at his throat, "Remove your filthy hands from my wife." He threw her hand down and she backed away, holding Billy close to her. Will continued to hold his weapon steady.

"Now, get out of my store," he said. 

The pirate backed away and out the door with Will following him to it. As he walked stiffly down the road, Mad Jan crowed out at him, perched as she always was on the steps of the whorehouse across the street, "Fly little Starling. Fly away. Fly!"

Sheathing his sword, he went back into his smithy. Elizabeth was trying to comfort a shaking Billy and as he took the both of them into his arms, he realized that she was quivering just as hard. Will was scared. He was terrified, he knew what men like that would do to avenge a wrong.

 In his fear, he lashed out onto Elizabeth, " I thought I told you not to defend Jack to anyone."

She said back angrily, "He was not only insulting Jack, Will, he was insulting me. Should I stand by and let him do it?"

He pulled back from her, "With men like him, Elizabeth, that's exactly what you should do. You know Jack has more enemies than there are fleas in this blasted town."

"But I don't!"

"Most pirates don't like to be humiliated by a lady."

"Most pirates deserve to."

"He won't forget this."

"He'd better not."

"Do you want to get hurt?"

"You may be a coward, William Turner. But I am not," she spat at him, turning around and marching up the stairs. Billy, in her arms, had been calm but this sudden movement and shouting sent him wailing again. Will watched her go, and turned back to his work.

He snarled at the metal and pounded it more than was strictly necessary, furious at Elizabeth and himself.  Why could he not just tell her it scared him to see her do that? To see her risk herself like that. He knew why he couldn't. He knew that if he said anything of that nature, she would melt. She would gaze at him with her doe-like brown eyes, and her soft face would go even softer. She would hope that now would be the time when he finally told her again that he loved her, like he said he would everyday. She would ask, why? Why are you afraid? And he couldn't lie to her. He never lied to her. But could he look at her, her hopeful and loving face, could he look at her and say, because I don't love you? 

It seems nonsensical, to want her to live because he didn't need her. It seemed ludicrous even, but he could not explain it. He could not say why his lack of adoration for her translated into a burning need for her to live, but he knew it. He was so confused. He did not know why he no longer loved her. He did not know anything anymore. She was his last anchor to the old Will. Without her, there was no telling what he could do or would do. And he did not want to find out.

He heard soft footsteps behind him, and two thin and pale arms snaking around his waist, "Will?" she said softly, "I'm sorry."

He sat down the now useless piece of iron and turned around, taking her into his arms. Looking down at her, he smiled softly, "No worries, love."

Pulling her closer to him, she sighed against his chest. Sobbing silently she pressed her face against her fading husband and answered, "No worries at all."

Later, at the supper table, the family was eating in near silence. Will and Elizabeth were still uncomfortable with each other.  The woman kept looking at him, and every time she did, a slow smile would form across her lips. The smile was bitter, sad. It was mournful, but resigned. She knew she was losing Will, even though Will might not know he was lost.

Only Billy was not worried, but Billy never was. He was humming some shanty as he ate and both parents were thankful he was only humming. Jack had taught the boy an amazing number of songs, all of them crude, some just plain obscene. The boy took special delight in singing the particularly bad ones around unsuspecting strangers and watching their faces. When they inevitably reacted, he would then break into happy giggles, and it was hopeless to try to get him to stop singing from then on. The songs were definitely not Jack's only legacy. The scoundrel had the boy convinced that "Cap'n Jacky Sparrow" was the best pirate on the seven seas, and that the ones his mates talk about were only "fakers." He had him calling all kings men "lobsterbacks" after a term he found in the Colonies that he took a fancy to. Billy was now always asking for "a drop o' grog" and could curse just as well as any pirate in five languages. In fact, Will sometimes thought that Billy's vocabulary was larger in that area than any other. Jack was so proud. But now he was only humming, and no words were spoken over the simple stew and crusty bread.

Elizabeth cleaned up dinner and Will played with his son. The firelight flickered in her eyes, but they were unreadable. Will did not look at her more than he had to, because when he did he would have to face what he had been avoiding. They were growing apart and they both knew it. Will by now had mastered the art of denial; he still believed that their marriage could recover. That they would look back at this troubled time twenty years from now, alone again in this small smithy and they would laugh. That he still loved her and adored her and wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. But Elizabeth never had her head in the clouds so far that she could no longer see where she was putting her feet. She could see the trap ahead of them, and it scared her. It frightened her in near the same way that the thought of her death frightened Will. It was the future, it was unknown, it was dangerous and uncertain. Both their lives had been based on certainties and all those certainties based on fate. Now it seemed all three factors, their lives, their certainties, and fate, were falling apart.

            Suddenly there came a crash from below the stairs. Will jumped up and looked at Elizabeth wordlessly. Their gazes locked and thousands of thoughts and dreams and hopes and fears past threw that connection in an instant.  Elizabeth turned away and nodded to him. As he ran down the stairs she whispered something at his retreating back, "Goodbye."

            The murky gloom of the smithy enveloped him. The moonlight glinted off of one of the swords on the wall and even the comfort of his forge seemed ominous in the plutonian blackness of this night.  Drawing his sword in one sure movement, he held it at ready while exploring the darkness around him. Taking a unsteady step forward, he called out "Hello?"

            He expected no answer, but to his surprise he got one in the form of an oil lamp lit. What he took moments before as a sword hanging on the wall was a glint of a sword true, but it was not on a wall. Before him stood one of the ugliest pirates he had ever seen.

            His bald head was tattooed with gory scenes from the most unlikely of places, the Bible. Above his ear played out the feeding of Christians to the lions in all its bloody detail and above his eye was Jesus dying on the cross. Revelations happened on his crown and it was all in incredible vibrancy. It was a bizarre panoply of piousness and cynicism but somehow it seemed to fit him. He had four earrings in his right ear, hoops of ascending sizes, but on his left ear dangled a simple pearl. His shirt was simple white linen, but it was no longer white in any true sense of the term. Dirt, blood, sweat and probably less savory things drew another picture across his chest, although this one an abstract promising only death. His belt held three primed pistols, but he held none of them. All he was holding was a cutlass.

            It was a hanger, actually, but the pirate probably didn't know that. Only a sword smith or an expert could tell the difference and there really wasn't much difference to begin with. The hanger was made with great skill and was obviously a fine blade. The pirate probably stole it from some Navy officer, which would explain why it was not a cutlass. Cutlasses were strictly maritime and had a definite connotation of piracy, a connotation that no officer would want. It was a short sword, curved and heavy, with a blade on only one side. 

            Will did not have time to contemplate more of the intricacies of the other mans sword, because said sword was currently on a path toward his head. With a quick parry, Will engaged the deadly dance of steel and muscle. He lost himself in every thrust and every riposte, his blade flashing the light from the lamp into the face of his opponent. The other man was smiling, gold teeth showing clearly against the blackness of his other ones.

Will was confused by this display of confidence, because with every attack it was becoming clearer that this man was no great swordsman.

            That was when Elizabeth screamed. It was then he knew he had been fooled again, had forgotten the only two rules a pirate lived by. Will threw himself at the other man, no longer bothering with any finesse and allowing himself to be consumed by fear and anger. Because of this, his skill was rapidly fading and the former dance was transformed into a hack and slash method of desperation. A ribbon of blood blossomed on Will's cheek as he threw himself out of the way of the incoming blade. He regained his balanced and drew blood off of the other mans thigh. Will knew he had to end this, and to do that he needed to think like a pirate.

            He gained hold over his emotions and smiled at the other man. The pirate smiled back, equally as menacing as their blades clashed. Maneuvering the other man toward his anvil, he lunged wildly. The movement sent the pirate off balance and a shove from Wills shoulder sent him crashing to the ground. However it knocked Will over too, and if the pirate hadn't hit his head on the anvil on the way down, Will would probably be dead.

            Gazing at his fallen foe, he showed that he was no pirate and did not kill him, just took the other mans sword, it being better than his own. Running up the stairs, two at a time, he threw open the door at the top of the flight. There stood another man, smaller and less threatening then his partner downstairs, but just as foreboding. Again, Will fought. Above the sound of his heartbeat, the hard click of boot against stair, and the clash of metal against metal, Will heard what he had been dreading. Soft masculine moans, and whimpers he knew to be Elizabeth's. With every parry and lunge he heard the squelching and slapping noises of what was going on only feet away. Every attack he renewed his anger and became more fierce and deadly. Just as Elizabeth called out in pain, fear, and denied pleasure his name, he dealt the mortal blow. Stepping over the man, now missing his head, he entered the room only to see Captain Henry Morgan pull out from his wife.

            Staring in shock, Will watched him buckle his pants and turn around. Seeing Will, the man smiled. Drawing a small dagger from a hidden sheath, he slit her throat with one swift movement.. The contrast of the blood against her white skin and the even whiter sheets broke him from his horror and he gave an animalistic cry, lunging at the other man. He sidestepped the attack and leapt out the broken window onto the roof of the building next to theirs. 

            Will ran to his wife, her eyes now glazed and her face now empty. His salty tears mingled with his own blood, sluggishly seeping out from the cut on his cheek, to drop onto her bed. He could not close his own eyes, but he was unable to bear looking at her prone and beaten form. He did not look at her torn frock or the obvious evidence of violation. Her own eyes, open still, stared back. With a movement of his hand, he closed her lids and shuddered at the deceptive warmness of her flesh. She had been alive only moments before, but she was not now. Stumbling backwards, dry-retching with repulsion he leaned back against the wall, the only solid thing in his careening world. He sunk slowly to his knees and sobbed helplessly, ignoring the sounds coming from downstairs as Captain Young presumably retrieved his man. He saw his handsome son lying on the floor near the foot of the bed. It looked like he had drowned in his own blood. The drip of the metallic liquid formed another pool near the headboard of the bed. A third puddle, this one of tears, leaking unashamedly, joined the rest of the family.   
            

(**A/N- I am in a quandary. To make this a one shot, change the name and the references to Starling by Mad Jan, or to turn it into the many chaptered story I want it to be. So, y'all need to tell me. Keep it how it is or explain why the hell Henry hates Jack so much and reveal my extensive back story which has been taking over my brain for the last couple of days including the strange nickname Starling and my preoccupation with that sword.)**


	2. Loss

**Title:** The Sparrow and the Starling

**Author:** Cynic

**Rating:** R

**Warning:** Some gore, non-consensual sex/otherwiseknown as rape, murder, character death, sadism, future slash, and general angstyness. Oh and Drunkenness in this chapter. Not to mention a lot of references to prostitution. And a little cursing… God, I really am wracking up the warnings. Hope Big Brother doesn't kick me off.

**Disclaimer:** I am just pilfering my weaselly black guts out.

**Pairing:** Jack/Will (in Seme/Uke correctness. Gotta admit that Jack wears the pants)

**Archive: **Yes, please! Just inform me at QueenDrgn06@aol.com

**Feedback:** Anything from flames, fangirlism (don't I wish) to constructive criticism 

**A/N:** Writer's block's a bitch. I hate the second half of this chapter. Everything from when we get Young's point of view to the end of this scandalously short chapter I hate. But I really wanted to post this, so I could write the next chapter in peace. Anyway, the vote is unanimous! Go on! I was probably going to anyway, but y'all make me feel so happy!  *is a reviewjunkie*

**Jessie-Greenleaf** – Sinister Pirate? You think he's sinister? *glomps* I try so hard! Thanks for the review! Heheh. No need to beg. I am continuing.

**Krimzon****- I did have a lot of foreshadowing, didn't I? Much to my dismay, though, when rereading my fic I realized I put in foreshadowing that had nothing to shadow, don't worry though. I think I worked it all out. Oh and I was beginning to like Billy too! I think, when I finish this fic, I am going to write the story of Billy's two year old birthday.**

**Ote**** Cuttlfish – You get a bit more of Henry's casual cruelty in this, possibly some insights into how Jack and Henry know each other, but the reason why they hate each other is not obvious.**

**eck – I agree about Norrington being a smart man, but the thing was that he did disapprove of Will and Elizabeth. He loved Elizabeth himself. My way of thinking is that even if he never went out and said that he disliked Will, everyone working for him would sort of get that jealous vibe. And would you go to a blacksmith your boss hated? And I agree, Elizabeth was a bit OOC, but from she was getting clued in toward the end.**

**IceWind**** – *sigh* *grin* *points downward* Jack**

**Haya**-- *sigh* *rolls eyes*

**Element Rogue/Syd/Ru-Chan/Firestar385/BJ Jones/robindragon/BJ/MadamStella **– Thanks for your review! *gives them all cookies*

Chapter Two: Loss

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            Captain Jack Sparrow was back in Tortuga. He knew this place well, had lived in it all his young life until he ran off as a pirate. He had never considered it his home, though, that was always his ship. That is until Elizabeth and her men came into his life. Since then, he had been coming home to Tortuga more and more, becoming genuinely excited at the drab and dirt that was the pirate's haven.

            Jack whistled as he flounced down the road to Will's small smithy. Coming to the place, he raised his bejeweled hand to knock on the door, but before he could make contact an old and cracking voice came up from behind him, "He's not there little Sparrow."

            He lowered his hand and brought them together, turning on his heel. 

            "And where could I find the boy, lovely Jan?" he spoke, nodding as he did.

            "Not there. Not there little Sparrow," she sat there, looking at him with her clouded blue eyes, empty and mad.

            "Yes, yes, we've established that. Do yah know where he is?" he said, not as intolerantly as one might expect, Jack was a very patient person. Waiting ten years to kill a man that betrayed you will do that to a person. 

            She smiled at him, her toothy grin filling her weathered and thin face, "Pigs Fly, Jack Sparrow. Fly away, just like you. Just like you and Starling and little bitty Wren. Pigs Fly."

            Jack's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly at the word 'starling' but then he always did. He managed not to react in anyway to her saying, 'wren', but his heart panged a little and he smiled a little more drunk, as he always did. He realized what she was trying to say, and clasped his hands up toward his face, bowing slightly. He turned to go in and she started humming to herself again.

            Old Tortuga was almost gone. It had almost faded into this newer and cleaner version. Pirates had become less dirty and degenerate since he became one, there were less of them. Only one brothel on Tortuga now, and this one was much more respectable than the haunts of early youth. Remnants of it lived in women like Jan and Anne, the Madame of the Flying Pig tavern and whorehouse. Famous for its cheap grog and cheap company, it was a favored abode to most of the men of the area. He glanced at the sign above the door, as if to check that it was the right tavern as he walked in, but he knew that it was. He could never forget the Flying Pig. He merely liked to look at signs. It was a habit of his, he liked the way that they were painted and thought out. He liked names too, and words. His favorite sign had been the Captains Daughter, and he especially liked how they combined both possible meanings.

            As he entered the foul and smoke-smelling building, he was accosted by some whores, barely fitting into their dresses and smelling of rouge and sex. 

"It's the Sparrow, girls!" one of them crowed, dressed in blue and lace, fluttering her fan girlishly. The rest of them surrounded him and a particularly brassy red-head tweaked his nose. 

"Have you come to pay to play with us, Jack, or to play for pay with us?" she said, tilting her head coyly. Her eyes had nothing of a flirtatious nature, they were green and hard. He knew this woman and she was no trifle.

"It's Captain Jack, darling Lily, and no matter what old Annie tells you, and aye she will tell you, I play no more. Now, loves, pearls o' me heart-" he began, but another woman interrupted him.

"Oh just spit it out, Captain" she said his title like it was painful to make it pass her lips and particular turn to it that made it clearly an insult, "We all know the only pearl of your heart is a black one."

He smiled ruefully, "You wound me, Portia, with your suspicion. But as usual, you are right. Have any of you fine ladies seen a young man, a bit taller than me-"

"Not that that's uncommon," inserted Lily, who had height advantage over Jack.

"Flattered Lily, anyway, has a funny hat, hair like a wenches-"

"Not that you should be speaking."

"Thank you Natty-"

"And looks like he sat on something sharp and pointed yet didn't bleed? Aye, I saw him" said a newcomer. The girls seemed to back away slightly as she came into the circle and even Portia lowered her eyes. 

"I heard ye called me old, Jack, I'll have you know that you are younger than me only in age, whelp, Ye put on too much kohl to look any younger then I," she said, almost warmly, "And yah have no skill at it."

"How many times do I have to tell you all? Its to reflect the sun out o' me eyes on my boat. It's not an affectation" he said, with the air of a man much aggrieved by repetition. The girls all looked at him disbelievingly, but he only smiled impishly and spoke again, "So, where is the lad?"

"Over there, in a corner," supplied Annie, and as he went to take her hand and kiss it she whacked him hard about the head. 

"And you wonder why we always slap you on sight. Yer always behaving like you did something wrong. Off with you now," she spat, shooing him off.

"That's probably because I normally have, love," he answered and minced his way over to where Will sat, trying to avoid the more unpleasant looking customers. He didn't feel like a fight right yet.

            Will stared determinedly at the amber liquid within his mug as if he saw the secret of life within its depths, or at least a very pretty woman. Will did not seem to notice someone walking up behind him, which was impressive being that someone was Jack. Jack always made enough noise on land to rival wild bores on rampage, you never needed to be quiet on a ship. Jack placed a ringed hand on one of Will's shoulders and was going to say a greeting.

            But before he could speak Will did, "No I do not want your pleasurable company and yes I realize you're cheap. Do go away."

            Jack smiled and sat down in the stool opposite Will, "Honestly, I am hurt,Will-"

He began, but was interrupted by Will.

            "Jack! I am sorry, you just have such small hands and your rings. I thought you were a light wench, I'm sorry, its just that-" he babbled, obviously highly embarrassed.

            Jack cut in, unconcerned, "That you would think me cheap."

            Will closed his mouth and went back to staring at his rum with the air of a man who was not going to acknowledge that sentence. 

            "So, why are ye staring at that fine drop and not drinking it? If you don't want it, I'll take it, I am a bit too sober for me liking." Jack said.

            "No more money after this one," Will said shortly.

            Jack raised his eyebrows and Will continued unprompted, "Haven't worked much lately."

            "You never appeared to be a drinking man, Will. Can't hold yer liquor worth a salt in the first. So whats been making you splice the mainbrace so hard that all you have been making is empty bottles, eh?" he said, curious and more than slightly worried. Will looked awful. His normally scrupulously clean and upstanding appearance was shattered by clothes that haven't been changed in days and eyes that haven't slept. No, his old friend did not look good at all.

            Will's face fell, and he seemed to need to force the words out. "Elizabeth," was all he managed and went back to silence.

            "Did she run a way with another man?" Jack asked, shocked. He didn't know she had it in her, especially with how much she loved their lad. 

            Will shook his head and choked out another word, in a breaking voice, "Pirates." He honestly looked like he was going to cry, and Jack felt uncomfortable sitting there and questioning him when he was obviously so upset. However, Jack had the feeling he needed to know so he continued.

            "She ran off with a pirate?" Jack asked, guessing. When Will mutely shook his head, he tried again.

            "To be a pirate?" he said, even more confused. She definitely did not have that in her. Despite what ever fire she showed, she got seasick far too easily. Will again signaled no. Jack was running out of options. 

            "Then what-oh. Oh." Wills shoulders shook with silent sobs and he hunched over his mug, trying to hide the tears running down his face. Before Jack could ask the question he volunteered an answer, "Billy too."

            Jack's face hardened and he made a decision.

            "Now, yer gonna finish that mug, and then we are going back to me ship and getting good and drunk, savvy?" he said. He had never been good with sympathy, but his heart ached for Will. The only ways he knew to deal with a problem was to get good and drunk or to tumble in the nearest haystack. He figured that the second one was probably not a good idea.

            As Will drank the rum in front of him, still despondent, Jack seethed with anger. Who did this to Will? Who killed her? He wanted and needed revenge and knew that Will did also. But what Jack needed to do was to make sure Will kept himself living until the day they could kill the as of yet nameless bastard.

            Will abruptly stood up and started to walk out the door to the tavern. He set a clip, and Jack was caught unawares, so the other man was out the door before Jack got up. He weaved in and out of the drunks and the whores, murmuring pardons, until he got to the door, where Portia called out, "A customer, Jack?

            All the girls giggled but Jack responded shortly, "Not the time Portia. Farewell, girls."

            If they had any response, Jack never heard it because he was already outside. 

---- ---- --- ---- --- ---- -----

            There was a common misconception about pirates and pirate ships. Stories were often told of the pitiless captain and the cowed crew. But that, as such stories often are, was patently not true. Most pirates became pirates because of such treatment in Her Royal Navy, including the one standing behind Captain Henry Young now. He picked the worst ship to run away from such tyrants and run into freedom. Most ships had a semblance of democracy, with the Captain only being unquestioned when in time of battle and important decisions like where to sale or whom to attack being put to the vote. This, however, was not most ships.

            _The Hawk _swayed and rocked as ships are oft to do when anchored. Her captain stood at the rail and studied the island that they berthed at. Yes, they always stopped at Tortuga, but they always left just as quickly. Tortuga put the captain in a foul mood, and nobody liked the captain when he was angry. Young took one last look at the green and verdant isle and, deciding he had been silent long enough to make his point, turned back around to glare at one of his boatswain. 

            The man studied the deck of the ship, careful not to meet the captain's eyes. His tattooed head had a sheen of sweat, and he no longer wore the maniacal grin he did when fighting Will. He shuffled his feet, uncomfortable in the silence and his head hurting from the earlier concussion.

            "Defeated by a blacksmith?" Young finally snapped. His blue eyes glittered in the half-light and his lips played with a menacing smile. The fight had been two days ago, nearly exactly, but Pious Pete was only now able to stand.

            "Uhh… aye, sir. And he took me cutlass!" Pete may be a good pirate, but he certainly wasn't a smart one. Suddenly Young's demeanor changed and he very nearly chuckled.

            "Did he now?" he murmured, "I do hope he gives shows it to Jack." 

            Heartened by the captain's response, Pete tried again, "Sir? Why'd ye leave'em livin'?"

            Young gazed out onto the open sea, and when he spoke it was obvious he wasn't really talking to the pirate, "Oh I want Jack to know exactly what I did."

            He smiled slowly at nothing, imagining his enemy humiliated and beaten before him. Pete fidgets nervously, bringing Young's attention back on him. 

            "But don't think that you are going to get out of this lightly, oh no," he said, turning his attention and his smile back on Pete, "My ship need careening, don't you think? But that's such a hassle. Maybe you can do it for us?"

            Pete's eyes widened and he took an involuntary step back. Young's grin spread and he called out, "Lads! Come here. This fellow needs a keelhauling."

            The crew pored out from below deck. When the captain called, no one dallied. Several of the grisly faces held expressions of distaste, although they never let Young see them. The men stripped Pete of clothing, most eyes asking for an apology mutely, but none daring to voice their thoughts. They tolerated this cruelty and tyranny because Young was simply the best. He made the most profit and he was scrupulously fair. If you failed, regardless of any circumstances, you would get the punishment for failure. If you succeeded, regardless of any circumstances, you would get the reward. He also inspired a strange sort of loyalty. He manipulated the men, often making them feel like they deserved whatever he meted out, that he was being merciful. In moods like these, though, he just relied on their fear. The men passed a rope from port to starboard, working efficiently. Young watched, his eyes crinkled in a smile, as they tied his hands onto it. 

            "Jenkins! Welsh! Brotter! You haul him" the captain said, lingering over their names. He had picked Pete's closest friends, but they dared not defy him. The most resistance was one whispered, "Sorry Mate" as they pushed him over the side.

            The pulled as hard as they could, not wanting him to drown. Yet even as they pulled they knew that the razor sharp barnacles would do Young's work for him. And yes, as Pete was drawn out of the water, spluttering and gasping for breath, a mirage of cuts decorated his back. He lay gasping on the clean wood deck, bleeding from his wounds and coughing up seawater.  Young smiled.

            "Clean him up and bring him back to the bunks. I want this deck to be spotless again."

---- --- ---- --- --- --- --- --- --- -- 

            Will grunted an answer to Jacks question and took another swig of rum. Jack sighed, and asked another question, "Yer mother was a man, aye?"

            Will nodded yes and took another swig of rum. Jack rubbed his temples. This worried and responsible feeling was not normal for him and it was uncomfortable. Feelings were not his forte, and he would prefer to keep his heart right were it is, thanks. It didn't need to go meeting any other hearts. But Will was devastated, Jack wasn't sure the truth had hit them yet, and by God and Ship and everything else that is holy they were going to talk about it. 

            Jack, who had already seen the bottom of several bottles, turned Will forcibly so he was facing him. 

            "Look, would ye tell me what happened? I can't help yah if you don't tell me," he said, possibly sharper then he intended. 

            Will wanted to scream and yell and curse Jack. He wanted to throw things and get so royally drunk he had a morning after headache to rival to the Apocolypse. He wanted to forget anything ever happened, he wanted to pretend that he was out getting drunk with Jack like he always did when Jack visited and tomorrow he would be in for a scolding from Elizabeth. He wanted to hurt somebody and he wanted to do anything but tell Jack what happened. He wanted to do all those things, but he didn't. Instead Will closed his eyes and took another sip from his rum. Taking a deep breath he started,

            "A man-he came into our shop. A pirate really, acted like a lord or something Seemed polite. Bil-" when he tried to say his name he choked, but before Jack could say anything, he lifted up his head again and continued, "He said that you were the best pirate ever or something of that sort. You know how he worshiped you? It scared her, she didn't want him to be a pirate." 

            He fell silent for a moment, remembering. His eyes whirled with a mixture of emotions but the strongest was not loss or mourning. It was intense regret.

            "He said your name and then he changed. He insulted her, and she insulted right back. I told her never to do that! But she didn't listen." He shuddered and took a huge gulp of his rum, as if trying to drown the memories, and to wash out the faces in his mind.

            "I kicked him out and then that night-"  he stopped, absolutely unable to go on. He enjoyed being in denial. He did not want to say what happened and make it fact. He wanted to wake up from this horrible nightmare where he got exactly what he wished for. 

            Jack closed his eyes, a slow, sinking feeling in his stomach telling him something he did not want to here. But he knew he had to know. 

            "Did he give you a name? Or the ship he was on?" he said, hesitant. 

            "Henry-" Will began but was interrupted by Jack, "Young. Of _The Hawk, aye? Tall, skinny, blue eyes?"_

            Will nodded and now it was Jacks turn to take a chug of his drink. It seemed ancient history was determined to rise up. He finished the glass and did not bother to poor another. He just handed Will a bottle and took one himself. Throwing his head back, he guzzled as much as would go down, and set the bottle down with a thud.

            "That damn bilge rat is dead."

---- --- --- ------ ------ ---- ---

**A/N— **No I did not make up keelhauling. It is an honest to God punishment. I hope I did not give away to much, there was one sentence (and no I am not telling where ^^) that sorta gave it away. Have you guessed Jacks secret? Anyway, see that pretty little button? Review! 


	3. Genesis

**Title:** The Sparrow and the Starling

**Author:** Cynic

**Rating:** R

**Warning:** Some gore, non-consensual sex/otherwiseknown as rape, murder, character death, sadism, future slash, drunkenness, occasional cursing, loads of references to prostitution and general angstyness. God, I really am wracking up the warnings. Hope Big Brother doesn't kick me off.

**Disclaimer:** I am just pilfering my weaselly black guts out.

**Pairing:** Jack/Will (in Seme/Uke correctness. Gotta admit that Jack wears the pants)

**Archive: **Yes, please! Just inform me at QueenDrgn06@aol.com

**Feedback:** Anything from flames, fangirlism (don't I wish) to constructive criticism 

**A/N:  **I am so so so sorry for the delay, but my computer went on the spaz and I am a firm believer in the phrase "Quality over Quantity" I just pray that this is long enough for the huge wait. In the meantime, I know so much about these characters, they are taking over my mind. I can tell you anything about them. ((Favorite color? Henry- Doesn't have one. Thinks it's unbearably silly to have one, but knows he looks best in blue and likes to be surrounded by green. Jack- Red, bright red. He likes it 'cause it's a bright, cheery color, and he is smashing in it. Also, being a pirate and spending so much time on sea, he has a fascination with fire. Will-He will shuffle his feet, and mutter brown, and absolutely refuse to tell you why.)) I gave all ya slashers out there a bit of a tidbit in the beginning. They can't leap into each others pants just yet, as much as I want them too. I have been manfully ignoring the plot lately, and it does have one. I promise. If you squint hard. Oh and the pun in the beginning of the third paragraph is fully intentional.  (("wasn't thinking straight"))

=============

            Will woke up with a pounding headache. He naively opened his eyes, only to quickly shut them again when the little bit of light within Jack's cabin seemed to send arrows of pain wracking his skull. He groaned, and ran his tongue over his dry lips. It struck him that he appeared to be in a bed. Or at least a bunk of some sort. He had woken up the last two mornings with a horrible headache, but never in a bed. The first day he passed out where he sat and was shoved outside with the morning cleaning.  And yesterday he woke up sprawling in a forgotten alleyway, smelling of filth and urine.

            But he was remembering now. He remembered drifting off to sleep and he remembered a low chuckle coming from another man. He remembered being eased into the bunk and gentle hands untying his boots and slipping them off. But most of all he remembered Jack's small and coarse hand running softly over his cheek, calloused skin feeling rough against his own. 

            That had felt wrong. It wasn't meant to happen. Jack just had a bit too much alcohol and wasn't thinking straight. It did not have the overwhelming rightness that he felt whenever Elizabeth had touched him. It did not drown him with saccharine sweetness. It did not make him want to claw his wrists, searching for the invisible bonds that held him at the boring smithy and his boring life. It was wonderful.

            His memory of the night slowly returned, and he remembered the conversation that occurred before he passed out. How Jack refused to talk about how he knew the Captain, and drunk as if the rum was the only thing holding him on to life. As they both drank away the long hours, his tongue loosened. He remembered mumbled words, but did not remember what they were. All Will remembered was a repetition of two words, "Starling and Wren" over and over. He got the definite impression that they were names, but the emotions that where behind Jack's words where inscrutable. 

            He opened his eyes again, his head feeling the slightest bit better, and managed to swing his legs off the bed. He stood up slowly and cautiously, glancing around the room. It was as expected: empty.

            He brought a hand to his temples and tried to rub out the hurt with little success. Groaning, he walked slowly over to the door and poked his head out. There Jack was, gesturing and slurring at some poor merchant, whose plainly baffled face was amusing even in Will's painful condition.

            _The Black Pearl_ was a wonderful ship, by all means, but ten years of neglect and misuse had certainly taken their toll. When Jack told stories of her gleaming hull and polished deck, the incredulous look on most of the crew's faces told tales of their own. The sails had needed to be replaced, the boat careened (a dirty and unpleasant job involving beaching the ship and scraping all the barnacles off the bottom), and countless other odd chores. It was only now, after about three years since he had the _Pearl__ returned to Jack, that the ship was restored to a bit of her former glory._

            Yet even the fastest ship on the Spanish Main needed to restock, and that was precisely what Jack was doing at the moment. The merchant was clearly a little afraid of the famous Jack Sparrow, and Jack was doing nothing to dispel that notion. He clapped the merchant on the back, sending him stumbling forward.

            "There's a chum," he growled and ushered the man off his ship.

            "So ye'll be getting my goods to me by nightfall, eh?" he reaffirmed, and when the merchant nodded nervously, he turned away. He spotted Will and flounced over to him.  

            "Not one to rise with the sun, are ye mate?" he chuckled to himself. Will just groaned, deciding that Jack's luck had to be unnatural. It appeared to extend to hangover free morning afters. Jack's expression suddenly darkened and he looked away from Will, gazing at what little of Tortuga he could see from the dock.

            "There's Gibbs with the rest of the crew," he said slowly and peered at Will, "Tell me lad. Do you want revenge?"

            His diction on the final statement was abnormally precise as if by accuracy he could distract from the sharpness of the memories. Will closed his eyes, and tried to organize his mind to determine what he wanted. But he couldn't and he never could. He opened his eyes, examining Jack's matte and unfathomable brown eyes. They reminded Will of the ocean, leagues deep and always dark, always foreboding.  He had always loved the ocean. Not knowing what he wanted nor knowing what he should want, he slowly nodded, never taking his stare from Jack's abyss-like eyes. 

            Jack smiled. It was not the familiar, cocky grin with gold teeth flashing that Will had known for years. It wasn't the drunken leer or the plotting smile that made all allies cringe. It was bitter, empathetic. It was a sad, slow smile that seemed to linger over his lips, as if he was savoring and recognizing the taste of it. But his eyes never changed.

            Will turned away, fearing the depth of emotion that those eyes and that smile and that question and that man inspired in him. His mind reeled and whirled, as if tossed by the storm of fear and the winds of regret. 

            "Captain?"  came a hesitant voice from behind him. A mask of drunkenness and joviality snapped into place, and Jack moved to the man calling him.

            "Thank yeh, Gibbs," he said, gesturing to the crew behind him. Some of their faces were sullen and irritated; after all it appeared that they had been disturbed and brought during their off time. However most were worried, and a few of the more intelligent ones held naked fear. They gathered around Jack, as he obviously was going to speak, and Will stood to the side and toward the back. 

            "You are released from your Articles," said Jack, with no fanfare or movement. Several shocked voices rose up from the crew.

            "Captain?"

            "Why-"

            "-abandoning us-"

            " You can't-"

            "Silence!" shouted Anna-Maria, her harsh voice tinged with worry, "Let the Captain speak."

            Jack nodded his thanks to his first mate and continued, "Elizabeth and Billy have been killed. By Captain Young of the _Hawk_." He paused here for the inevitable comments and whispers. All of the crew started in recognition, but only a couple of the old and weathered faces shared the horror that crossed Mr. Gibbs' face. The older man mouthed silently, _We__ are going after him, as if the topic was an old one. Several of the men turned and looked at Will, most with faces lined with sympathy but a select few with accusation._

            "Their will likely be no swag for the offering, and I won't be able to pay yeh. I need only those who volunteer to go. Even if-" he breathed and rushed on, "if it means leaving the _Pearl in my first mates most capable hands."_

            He left silence in the wake of that. No one could imagine Jack without the _Pearl. The time before he got it seemed like a distant memory, a bad nightmare that seemed particularly real. The crew exchanged uncomfortable looks. They felt loyalty to Jack, he was the type of captain that inspired it, but there main liege was themselves. Some had small families to support, and others no savings. If there was to be no treasure and no payment, loyalty wouldn't pay the rent. Young Duncan was worried and looked around to his fellows. He had a wife back in Tortuga, Becky, and he didn't want to go gallivanting off without due reward. No one did. _

            Gibbs looked at Jack and nodded, stepping away from the rest of the crew and standing behind his captain.

            "It is bad luck to desert a man when he is needin'."

            Anna-Maria followed and grinned at Jack, "Yeh must mean some other capable first mate. I am goin' with yeh."

            "Pieces of Eight!" squawked Cotton's parrot, and the man himself joined the other too. The pirates filed over, one by one, some more reluctantly than others. Duncan kept his eyes fixed on his feet and shuffled, but he went. 

            "Wait!" Jacks voice cut through the movement and the crew stopped moving at once out of habit.

            "You cross that line, you're no longer a pirate. You no longer have a say in the running of this ship. No booty or nothing. Your Articles go both ways, and they no longer apply. Savvy?" he said flatly. 

            Jack smiled the new smile again, his eyes bleak. He peered into the eyes of each of his men in turn, and repeated again, 

"Savvy?"

They slowly continue, all looking reluctant and wary. This was not a Jack they knew. Though he was fickle, and often would go from buoyant joy to crushing depression and every possible variation of the two, they had never seen him so utterly blank. Duncan's brow furrowed, but he followed the rest of the crew. Jack only prayed they didn't regret placing so much trust in him. With a wave of the hand he dismissed the crew.

            "Now, lads. Yeh be going back to Tortuga and finding a bit of pleasant company. We're leaving at dawn. Anna, Gibbs n' Will. Yer going to stay with me." 

            Will nodded along with the other two, and the rest of the men hurry down the ramp, anxious to leave Jack's penetrating stare. Whispers spread among them, and Will figured that they would not immediately part company. 

            Jack moved wordlessly into the cabin and the other three followed him. He sprawled back on the cot that Will had only recently vacated, putting his feet up on the nearby chair. Anna-Maria sat stiffly on the edge of another chair, resting one hand loosely on the round table and the other one hovering around her sword in pure instinct. Gibbs hunched over on his chair, leaning against his forearms and looked around at the others as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. Will lounged against the wall, the very picture of relaxation and indifference, but coiled and tense inside. 

             "So?" asked Anna-Maria with a question in her voice.

            Jack smiled slightly, "Have any of ye heard of the_ Benediction?"_

            Gibbs nodded and spoke, "Aye, 'twas all the talk of Tortuga, it was. They said it is laden with gold and other swag, but none have a ship fast enough to waylay it"

            Jack moved swiftly, rising from the cot and snapping, "Wrong. Two captains have fast enough boats."

            Will, catching on, said quietly, "The_ _Pearl___ and the _Hawk_"_

            Jack nodded and took out the map he was searching for. Spreading it on the table, he gestured for the others to gather round and they did. With his dagger he pointed to a thing gap between islands.

            "See that, mates? The _Benediction needs to be a'passing through there. Ol' Cappy Young has to try for it, its far too easy for a ship with the _Hawks_ turn of speed. That's where we'll get 'em."_

            "But what of the _Benediction_?" asked Anna-Maria.

            "Aye, that's the tricky part. We going to be using them as bait, as it stands. We confront them with a offer to protect them from the inevitable attempt for a good word in regards to a Letter of Marquee from the king- I have no plans to use it, mind you, and we probably won't get the good word anyway. We're bloody pirates, not some toadies of the king" he said quickly, to forestall the objections on all three tongues.

            "As I was saying, we following in their wake, a bit back so we are not spotted right away. Young attacks the ship, then Uncle Fanny's your aunt, we step in while they are previously occupied. Savvy?"

            "You're either insane or a genius, Jack." Gibbs said.

            "It's remarkable how often those two traits coincide," Will spoke quietly, shooting a look at Jack. The other man raised his eyebrows but his smile grew a little less sharp. 

            "Right then lads-" Anna-Maria growled, "-and the illustrious and lovely lass, we sail at daybreak tomorrow to cut our little merchant boat off here. We'll run up the white cloth, and I'll pass our little proposition by them, and if we do not have an accord, we'll just follow anyway. So run off with ye now. I'll wait on me boat for the sutler." 

            Gibbs and Anna-Maria rose and filed out, sympathy evident as the passed Will. The man clapped him hard on the shoulder and muttered a gruff condolence, but Will shrugged his hand off and did not reply. Anna-Maria brushed her hand gently on his harm and did not say a word, but her apology was equally as unwelcome. Will stayed.

            He methodically studied the grain of the wood in the wall, and Jack seemed to be thinking of other things. Neither said anything or looked at each other until Will broke the silence.

            "Thank you." Jack's head snapped around to look at Will, and he shrugged the apology off. He studied the younger man's desolate face, and in an effort to comfort him, he spoke.

            "Elizabeth was a great mother" he said quietly, "And you were an excellent father, lad. Don't be beating yourself up over things you can't change."

            "But she's gone!" he rasped, unable to deal with the guilt and the regret. 

            "But she was there. And you were there for lil' Billy. You can't ask for naught more. He had a father, Will. A good father. You can't ask for much more," he repeated, infusing his words with his own experiences.

            Will sighed. He knew how it was growing up without a father, but Billy would never grow up. Never have the chance at life he deserved. And Elizabeth! Jack broke him out of his reverie,

            "But enough of that, aye? Want to have another pint or three 'fore the chandler gets back with me goods?" 

            Will nodded and the both gathered up some rum, heading out of the cabin. Jack sat, leaning against part of the ship, gesturing at the other man to sit as well. He swigged his drink, and following his lead, Will drank also. 

            "I never knew my father," Jack began, in an uncharacteristic burst of candidness. Maybe he thought he could distract Will with his own life.

            "But me mum was there for a while. She used to sing to me, chanties and the like. Always loved them, 'specially if they were about pirates. Got sick though. When I was about twelve. I hada work to get some grub on the table," he paused, if unsure if to go on or not, but he was spared the need to continue.

            "I don't think my mother ever sang to me. Didn't smile much, or laugh either. I think she stop laughing when father left. I think she said that was when I was about four. But I know she laughed, once. "

            Both men did not seem to be talking to each other. As Will spoke, he stared at some distant spot on the horizon, and his voice faded into a whisper. Jack closed his eyes and heard an older man in the back of his mind say, _Aye, lad. He might grow up to look like you, but he's only about seven now. Left him when he was about four, but we needed the money. _

            Both men seemed shocked by their admissions, and decided the best course of action was to stare into the sea, pondering it's mysteries while drowning their sorrow in drink. It did cheer Will up a little, he was always curious about where Jack came from and every tidbit of information was welcome.

            Their musings where interrupted by the arrival of the chandler and his men. In the activity that followed, they managed to reduce some of the unbearable tension between them.  

            The boat stocked, they bade goodnight the man and watched him leave. Will wondered were he was going to sleep tonight, but followed Jack when he entered the cabin. His stomach fluttered strangely, but he decided to ignore it. Not all decisions can be heeded, however, and Will found himself examining every inch of Jacks face. Tearing his heated gaze away, he hunched his shoulders, ashamed of the whirlwind of feelings consuming him. To try and distract from the all consuming guilt, he spoke.

            "I'll sleep on the chair tonight Jack. You have the bed."

            Jack nodded, and moved his hands to his waist. Will felt a sudden strange fear that he would unbutton his pants, but in a swift movement he removed the brace of primed pistols. Sitting on the bunk, he kicked off his boots and took off the cutlass and various knives he carried. All for one, of course. That one he placed sheathed under his pillow, as he always did. Will also removed his sword, and set it on the ground. He sighed, moved the lantern and putting it out. He sat in the chair, settling himself on the hard wooden back, and tried to make himself comfortable, but it was futile.  

            "Good night, Jack."

            " 'Night Will."

            But Will did not sleep just yet. He stared at the dark ceiling, trying to make patterns in the darkness as he tried to make patterns in his life. He worried and bothered the wound in his mind and the wound in his heart, as if trying to prevent it from healing. He gloried in the pain that remembering brought him because that was an accepted emotion, it wasn't so wrong. He finally drifted off, the sea of sleep lapping at his tired body, but his dreams were fevered and he got no rest. 


End file.
